Tin Box
by JolinarJackson
Summary: Jack had a tin box in his quarters, dented and old. In it, there were pictures and drawings. People he'd loved.


**Tin Box**

_Word Count: ~ _1.100

_Summary: _Jack had a tin box in his quarters, dented and old. In it, there were pictures and drawings. People he'd loved.

_Characters: _Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Toshiko Sato

_Pairing: _Jack/Ianto

_Rating: _PG-13

_Spoiler: They Keep Killing Suzie, Exit Wounds_

_Setting: _after _Exit Wounds_

_Warnings: _Sad!Fic, mention of character deaths

_Author's Note: _Written for prompttorchwood prompt _#5 – Ephemeral_.

_Disclaimer: _I'm not making money with this fanfic. The tv-show _Torchwood _and the characters appearing within it belong to their producers and creators. Any similarities to living or dead persons are purely coincidental and not intended.

xxx

Ianto was a stoic presence next to Jack, stone-faced and seemingly not bothered by the cold, an unreadable expression on his pale face, wearing a black suit with a black tie and looking for all the world like the perfect funeral guest.

However, Jack knew better. He knew how much this took of Ianto; he knew that Ianto wanted to cry and rage and scream. It was his hand that gave him away, the slight tremor in the fingers that held onto Jack's like a vice, and he stood just that bit too close to make them look like just friends. It didn't matter, though. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the hole in the ground and the urn being lowered into it.

Jack had promised Tosh a funeral way back, just after she'd joined and had had the first brush with death. He'd promised her that she wouldn't end up like all those agents in Torchwood's drawers, frozen – trapped – to be preserved forever. And she'd asked for something else, after Suzie had come back.

"_I don't want to come back to life," she said, her dark eyes earnest and pained. "Never, Jack. Promise you'll cremate me."_

He'd promised.

_**(Many years later, Tosh's death was an invisible scar, not leaving a trace on Jack's skin but on his mind. The scar joined many others: some deep, others not so much; some with ragged edges, others with smooth; some recent, others faded. Jack had an impressive collection, the result of a long life and many losses. Sometimes, he wondered if there would come a point sometime in the future where his mind couldn't bear another scar and would collapse, leaving him dead inside. Until then, though, the scars would remain silent witnesses to Jack's grief, not bothering him unless reminded of them – then they ached badly, not letting him rest for weeks.)**_

Ianto's breath stuttered, for just a second, unnoticeable for anyone but Jack. He pulled Ianto closer, offering his shoulder. It didn't surprise him when Ianto didn't accept, remained stiff and unyielding. Jack knew that Ianto hated to seem weak. He would let go later, when it was just the two of them, when Jack would let go as well. That was how they handled trauma and grief and fear.

_Preparing for the funeral was a painful affair and they didn't speak. Not until Ianto suddenly turned around to Jack, fussing with his tie. "Do you remember who you lost a hundred years ago?"_

"_What do you mean?" Jack asked._

"_The human memory is fleeting. Things fade. I'm just wondering …" Ianto hesitated, cleared his throat and then stepped closer to Jack. "Being immortal, do your memories of people you loved back then fade to be replaced with memories of people you love now?"_

_**(Jack had a tin box in his quarters, dented and old. In it, there were pictures and drawings. People he'd loved. On the backs of those pictures, he'd written their names and what he'd loved about them, special things he'd seen and experienced with them. **_

_**On the back of Owen's picture, it said: **__Owen Harper, friend and colleague. Loyal to the end. _

_**On another it said: **__Toshiko Sato, my hero. _

_**He knew it wasn't much. He would add things as time went on, when the grief slowly dulled and he'd be able to remember the good times.) **_

_Ianto's hands brushed through Jack's hair, making it representable and neat, the tender gesture soothing the sharp ache of his scars. "In your long life, are memories of us ephemeral?"_

Gwen looked at him from across the tiny grave, her eyes red and wet, Rhys's arm around her shoulders. Jack's pain worsened at the thought of losing her, too, of losing Ianto. Tears welled up in his eyes when he noticed, not for the first time, that the scars hurt but he couldn't for the life of him remember what _**(who)**_ had caused some of them. Not without his little box of paper-and-ink memories.

Ianto looked earnest and sad and understanding all in one. And Jack loved him, he really did. Ianto was his rock, his lover, his friend and everything Jack wanted him to be, except for one thing – he didn't want Ianto to be ephemeral. And yet, he was.

"_Do I have to answer that?" Jack asked. _

_Ianto's eyes slid away from his and he shook his head, his fingers still playing with the short strands at Jack's nape, as if straightening every hair one after another. Jack dreaded the day he would put Ianto's picture into the box. He wondered briefly what he would write on the back of it, but steered his thoughts away from that question quickly. He couldn't tell Ianto the truth, the words stuck in his throat. This day was sad enough, no matter how understanding, how wonderful Ianto would be about it, Jack couldn't say that, compared to the long life he was living, his time with Ianto was just a short spark of light. Just two years. Two years in an endless sea of decades and centuries …_

"_It's okay," Ianto said and kissed him, his lips warm and pliant when Jack answered the kiss, feeling the need to pull Ianto closer, to kiss him properly with tongue and teeth and lips. _

They stood at the grave for a long time, not speaking. By the time they left, it had started to rain slightly, the only noises being the drops hitting their umbrellas and their feet scrunching on the gravel.

_**(Jack's hands found the tin box many years later in his cupboard when he was about to add a new picture. He leafed through the memories, finding Rhys Williams and Gwen Cooper on one picture, together, the colors faded but the smiles still bright. His scars started to ache while he turned the picture around to read the words. **_

_Rhys was a friend and Gwen knew me too well. _

_**He read through the list of memories on the back and smiled sadly, noticing how empty the words seemed. The memories were faded at best, broken fragments of a life long gone. **_

_**There was another picture, the colors just as faded, the smile just as bright. Old jeans and a dark hoodie and wise eyes. The dull ache strengthened, becoming a searing pain driving tears into Jack's eyes. He turned the picture over. **_

_Ianto Jones: He understood me.__**)**_

END

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